Fan Fiction ❯ By the Sea ❯ Night's Revelation ( Chapter 4 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

He was having a nightmare.



As his muffled moans and cries pierced through the oppressive night, she found herself waking from her light slumber. The King of Rohan tossed and turned on the other side of the large bed, shrouded in the shadow of the darkened room. And as she shifted closer to his heated body, Lothíriel could barely see the thin film of sweat that covered his brow and bare chest. His face was contorted into a mask of pain that spoke of old wounds, shattered hearts and forgotten grievances.



The strings of her own heart tugged as the strong, brave warrior clung to his pillow, whimpering and growling alternately. Her non-existent feelings for the Rohan King were disregarded as she reached out to cup his tear-stained cheek within her small palm.



"Éomer?" Her voice was soft, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings against the cold night.



He did not stir.



Licking her dried lips, Lothíriel moved closer to lie beside her husband. She grasped his trembling shoulder as she leaned over his shivering form and shook him vigorously, fearing that he would never pull himself from the harsh nightmare that clutched his heart.



"Éomer! You must wake up!"



She gasped as Éomer snarled and threw her back onto the bed, straddling her as his hand fisted in the air, ready to hit her face. His thick, battle-worn fingers curled around her fragile neck and squeezed dangerously.



Éomer's brown eyes glinted furiously before the anger slowly receded, only to be replaced by a mist of horror at the realisation of his position. "Lothíriel?" Scrambling off her quivering form, he watched her sit up and clutch her throat as she coughed. "What happened? Are you all right?" He asked timidly, eyeing her neck with guilt as she rubbed the thin column to ease the pain.



"You were having a bad dream," she rasped, looking at him with concern.



"F-forgive me, I–I thought you were the enemy... I–Are you well? Did I hurt you?"



Lothíriel held up her hand, "It is all right, I shall be fine."



Éomer reached out and traced the base of her neck, wincing as he noted the odd colouring of her skin. She took his hand and pulled it away from her injury. "I am fine... What were you dreaming about?" She asked quietly, holding his hand in her lap as he slumped back to lay on the bed.



"Death..." he whispered, "I dreamed of death and a sea of blood; I dreamt of my uncle and that I was being attacked from all sides and I could not save myself... I could not save him or anyone else."



Following his own manner, Lothíriel stretched down beside her husband and allowed him to gather her into his muscled arms. As her cheek pressed against his wildly beating heart, she breathed in the intoxicating scent of sweat combined with spicy soap.



The King of Rohan held his wife tightly to his naked chest, his breath coming in hard gasps as he tried to regain control of his body. She was heart-broken for her husband; to know that he had witnessed the same horror, the same death and destruction as her own father and brothers, made her want to weep for him. Like her brothers, his innocence towards life had been lost many years ago–ravaged by the sight of bloody corpses upon stricken fields.



He had not been so unaffected by the War as she had previously thought. She knew that her own father and brothers had recurring nightmares after the War. But jumping to conclusions, she dismissed the thought that Éomer felt the same pain and suffering at the loss of many good men... And for that, she bore a great sense of guilt.



"Please forgive me, Lothíriel," Éomer pleaded once he had regained his ability to speak.



Tilting her head upwards as he held her close, Lothíriel found herself sighing wearily, "There is nothing to forgive."



"I could have harmed you," he said solemnly.



"But you did not. And even if you had done, it would not have been intentional."



"Why does it still hurt, Lothíriel?" He murmured brokenly.



"What hurts?"



"The pain that I feel from my uncle's death..."



Burrowing deeper into his chest as he absently rubbed her back, the princess frowned, "I honestly do not know, Éomer." Lothíriel closed her eyes as her husband's warm lips caressed her forehead. O, how she wished he would not do that... "You feel pain because you loved him dearly–you still love him. Do not grieve for his death, Éomer; he would wish for you to celebrate his life and his glory as a triumphant King."



She jumped with fright as he gently rolled her onto her back, parting her legs so that he could settled between them. "I cannot toss aside my grief, my love. I will always carry the burden of his death near my heart for the rest of my life..."



Lothíriel squeezed her eyes shut as he covered her tiny body with his large form, moulding himself against her curves. "But I need you to help me forget, beloved," he whispered, "Help me to forget..."



And to her bitter resignation, she felt his hands traverse the sloping plains of her curves as he tried to ignite a pleasured response from her parted lips. And although she could not offer him a response, nor did she offer him encouragement, she allowed him to continue on the path for his release... So that he could find solace in her arms.




T hey sat quietly together at the table in his chambers, eating the delicious morning meal that had been provided for them by one of the King's many servants. Lothíriel stared down at her food; the steaming roll, spread generously with warm butter did nothing to tempt her into eating. But she took a dainty bite nonetheless and soon felt the food turn into ash within the moist cave of her mouth.



She desperately wondered how she could have allowed him to use her body the previous night. After the first time, she had promised to herself that she would avoid her husband's wandering hands at all costs. But... He had been so broken and fervent as he tried to release his pain within her body, that she could not find it within herself to ward him off. She wanted to take away his pain, at the cost of her own broken heart.



Did that make her weak? Did that make her a fool? By allowing him to continually show his love, was she simply prolonging both of their pain? For she knew that she did not love him...



It seemed that she did not possess the strength to tell him that his advances were not welcome. And although it was not completely unpleasant to feel him join with her and move within her–the aftermath left her bereft, as if she was wandering the lands of Middle-earth alone with no one to aid her... Bereft of all hope that she could learn to enjoy his body, that she could somehow learn to love him.



"You left the feast."



It was not a question, it was a softly spoken comment that finally broke the unending silence of the room. She swallowed the dusty morsel of food and looked up to find her husband gazing at her with such poignant concern and love. Her stomach clenched.



"Yes," she confirmed.



"You were not well?"



Lothíriel's eyes drifted to the sun-filled window on the far side of the room. She traced the dust particles absently before answering, "I was tired... Was I to wait for you?"



The question was innocent, though she could not help but notice the tightening of his jaw, "Nay, you did not have to wait for me," Éomer paused as he stared her, "But I was worried," he said eventually.



She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled forcefully, "Do not be, I was merely exhausted from the day's excitement."



Éomer sighed, finally accepting her excuse. "You met Elfhelm, correct?"



"Yes."



"He said that you were quite charming and that you would make an excellent Queen," pride tinged his voice.



Surprise clouded her face, "Really?"



"Truly," her husband smiled joyfully and Lothíriel found herself laughing at his quick reply.



"You must thank him for me," she said lightly as she slowly felt the gloom of the chambers dissipate. His words were not of love and their future and she felt that if this was the type of conversation she had to endure for the rest of her life without his touches and kisses, then she would welcome it with open arms.



"I will do," the Rohan King conceded, "And what say you of the Marshal?"



"I like him," Lothíriel admitted shyly.



Éomer raised his eyebrow, "Oh? Pray tell, what do you like about him?"



She pondered the question, tilting her head, "He seems very loyal to the throne."



"Aye, that he is."



"And he loves you very much; he spoke of you not as a King but as a younger brother or nephew."



Éomer could not stop himself from smiling, "He has always treated me as his family, not his lord. When I took the throne, I prayed that he would not change his behaviour towards me. I am grateful that he has not; he is my brother in-arms, close consort and dear friend."



Lothíriel greatly approved of the King's judgement. "Men like Elfhelm will always remain faithful and he will serve you well until his dying breath."



A distant look graced her husband's face, "That is what I fear..." He whispered.



She frowned, "What do you fear, my lord?"



"I fear that his loyalty towards me will be his undoing. I fear that he will die in his service towards me and I will not be able to save him..." The King of Rohan trailed off as his eyes glazed over to recall the horror of past deeds.



"Do your thoughts mirror your dreams?"



He glanced at her sharply, fixing her with his intense stare. She watched closely as his eyes flicked down to the yellowing fingerprints upon her neck. "You are perceptive," he said to himself, "Does it hurt?"



Lothíriel traced the column of her neck with her fingertips as her husband continued to gaze at her injury. "It pains a little, but it shall heal."



"I never meant to hurt you," Éomer reaffirmed, "You know that, don't you? I would never hurt you."



The Princess of Dol Amroth offered her husband a brittle smile. Not intentionally, she thought grimly. "I know."



He sighed deeply before casting his worried eyes upon her untouched food. "You will wither away if you do not eat," he motioned for her continue as he stood.



"Where are you going?"



"There are formal arrangements to be made," Éomer smiled conspicuously.



"Arrangements? For what?"



"Your coronation, of course. It will take place at the end of the week."



Lothíriel's heart leapt into her throat.



She gaped at her husband as she received the stomach-churning news. The coronation would make everything so real–it would make everything permanent. She would no longer be a princess of Gondor, but a Queen. She would have to bear her husband an heir to the throne and stand by his side on official business... She would have to embrace her role as Rohan's Queen and she could not help but worry about that minor detail.



Would she even be accepted? She did not know... "What time will you be finished?"



"By noon. I have employed Elfhelm to show you around the palace and to help you get acquainted with the people of Edoras. I will return to you after noon and take you to see the neighbouring plains of Edoras... Will that be to your liking?"



Lothíriel nodded, vaguely aware of his words and their meaning; she was still reeling from the news of her coronation. Bidding his stunned wife farewell, Éomer leaned down to drop a loving kiss upon her head before slowly sauntering out of the room, leaving Lothíriel to deal with her troubled thoughts on her own.




" Thank you," Lothíriel said quietly as she walked beside the taller man.



Elfhelm smiled, "You are thanking me, but I do not know what I have done to earn your gratitude!"



"For agreeing to show me around Edoras," she admonished, squeezing his elbow with her hand as he guided her down through the bustling village.



From the corner of her eye, she could see people stop and stare at her with surprise and reverence. As they passed, some bowed with awe-filled gazes whilst others simply stood and tried not to gape at her. Lothíriel wanted to laugh at their behaviour–she found it to be utterly heartwarming and endearing. It seemed as if the people of Rohan had forgotten what it was like to have a Queen... After forty years without a female monarch, she could not blame them for their reaction. She felt somewhat eased about the upcoming coronation and knowing that the people accepted a foreigner as their Queen was comforting.



The Marshal beside her chuckled, "It is my pleasure, my lady. I had no outstanding duties to attend and by the reaction you are receiving, I am glad to accompany you!"



Lothíriel smiled as she nodded to an elderly couple standing in the doorway of their thatched home. The old man dropped his walking stick, causing his wife to slap his arm for gawking at the young Queen. She almost giggled, but waved to them instead and received a similar greeting from the bemused couple.



"It is nice to know that the people of Rohan can accept me as their Queen. I was afraid that they would not warm to the idea of a foreigner on the throne."



"Nonsense," Elfhelm berated, "I believe that they are just happy to finally have a Queen after so many years."



"And you?" Lothíriel teased as she looked up at his towering form, "Are you not happy?"



The Marshal smiled tightly, pulling his green eyes away from hers before he could drown in their bottomless depths, "I am very happy, my lady."



"Good! I would terribly upset to find that you do not approve of your friend's choice in taking a bride from Gondor."



"I approve," Elfhelm said to himself, under his breath, "By Béma's good grace, I approve!"



"What did you say?"



"Nothing," he replied quickly, causing her to offer him a strange look.



They paused as a young girl, no more than seven, ran up to the pair as they walked along the path. Lothíriel smiled at the flaxen-haired child with dazzling hazel eyes.



"Excuse me, my lady!" The young girl started fearfully.



"Yes?" Lothíriel prompted softly, releasing her arm from Elfhelm's grasp so that she could bend down to greet the little girl.



"Mama said that I was to give this to you," she presented the princess with a small bunch of yellow flowers, pleasing to eye and nose.



Lothíriel gratefully accepted her gift and took the flowers from the little girl, offering a large smile, "Why, thank you! These are absolutely beautiful! But do you want to know something?"



"What?" The little girl asked, forgetting all sense of propriety, which Lothíriel did not mind one bit.



"I think you more beautiful than these flowers!"



The child blushed deeply and scuffed her foot in the dirt, "T-thank you, your highness."



Laughing even more, Lothíriel leaned close to place a gentle kiss upon the child's forehead. "Will you tell your Mama that I am delighted with my gift?"



She looked at the little girl as she nodded before running away down the path.



"I did not even get the chance to ask for the her name, nor did I tell her mine," she commented to Elfhelm absently.



"I would not worry about that," the Marshal grinned, "I doubt that she will forget you after the impression you made on her."



"You think so?" Lothíriel questioned doubtfully as she allowed Elfhelm to take her arm once more.



"Oh, I am quite certain, my lady!"



Elfhelm smiled gently to himself as Lothíriel nodded. He saw the look of concern that still tugged at the corner of her lips and could not help but suppress his smirk. She did not seem to be aware of the approving stares she received from the local people... And as he watched the interaction between the Queen and the young girl, the Marshal knew that his friend had made the correct decision in marrying her. But for some strange reason, he wished that he could have met her first... He did not know why he wished this. He did not want to know.



The Marshal was simply delighted that his old friend had found such a good wife as Lothíriel. And one day, he hoped that he could find someone of equal worth; though he knew that it would never be her.




< b>Added Notes: Next chapter will contain a confrontation between Lothíriel and Éomer... Ah, don't you just love it when things go horribly wrong?


lady scribe of avandell: I haven't read your story, but I will check it out now! Thank you so much for your wonderful comments.


klaw: Thank you!


Diadora: Thank you so much, I love Karl Urban!


lu kang: Stick around, things are going to get a lot more interesting! I have some original ideas that will you drooling... Thank you for reviewing



wondereye: Our favourite King's POV will come, I promise! Thanks for reviewing


starnat: The couple will speak, I believe in the next chapter :-)


jadeddiva: Thank you!


fandun: Concerning Elfhelm... I just love him as a character and I wanted to portray him in a role where you can't help but fall in love with him, but I also wanted the readers to sympathise with him... Is it working? I hope I don't make you dislike him, he's done nothing wrong... So far. Thanks for reviewing!


neatard: Thank you! Have I updated soon enough? lol.


thayzel: I completely agree about the propriety! About Elfhelm... Heck, I wish there were men like him around! If there were, I would lock up each and every one of them for my own pervy amusement... Or I would shrink them and keep them in my pocket... You want directions to Rohan? Honey, did you know that Rohan is heavily guarded by the Rohirrim women? They wield deadly frying pans of doom and harbour crazy mares within arms reach, do you have a death wish? I know I do! Which is why I am currently trying to disclose the location of Rohan. If I find out where it is, I promise to take you with me and we can see about kidnapping one of those gorgeous, hunky stallions! And I'm not talking about the horses ;grin; Thanks for reviewing!






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